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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052332">starlight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorlimadelta/pseuds/victorlimadelta'>victorlimadelta</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Trans Sheith Week 2021 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Dysphoria, Body Hair, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Condoms, Fingerfucking, Foot Massage, Gay Sex, M/M, Squirting, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Sheith Week 2021, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:01:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorlimadelta/pseuds/victorlimadelta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro looks at him, and Keith feels scrutinized. Shiro’s mouth is screwed up into the tiniest frown, a thought line wrinkling between his eyebrows. “You <i>are</i> a real Galra, though,” he insists.</p><p>“I don’t look like it,” Keith mumbles.</p><p>—</p><p>To fill prompts “body hair” and “squirting” for Day 1 of Trans Sheith Week 2021. Also a study of the in-between places of species, gender, and self.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Trans Sheith Week 2021 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>starlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AFAB language used for Keith.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This, right here, is why Keith never puts his feet in Shiro’s lap. It’s some weird Pisces man thing, he’s sure, that Shiro gets himself worked up over something so supremely unsexy, but there’s something about how Shiro touches him here that makes Keith go all sensitive, too. The soft fingertips at his toes trace around the ball of his foot before the meat of Shiro’s thumb presses into his instep, a tender tendon soothed into submission at the insistent massage. Shiro looks far too satisfied at the involuntary ‘mm’ that buzzes in Keith’s throat. “Feel good, baby?”</p><p>“You’re a freak,” Keith grumbles, flicking his ankle to try to kick off Shiro’s hand, and Shiro laughs. “Why do you do this every time?”</p><p>“Because I want to make you feel good.” His hand traces back to Keith’s heel, cupping it in his palm, before his touch slides even higher, taking his strong, delicate ankle in the grip of his broad human fingers. “Is it working?”</p><p>Keith pouts. “That’s not the point,” he says, even though he’s longing to squirm in his seat already. The polyester ‘satin’ of his basketball shorts feels itchy against his thighs, and he finds himself wishing he would have worn underwear.</p><p>Because Shiro just goes ahead and lifts, gentle and persuasive, to encourage his legs to un-cross, and Keith just sort of... lets him. “I like your legs,” he says, voice hushed like he’s scared someone will overhear him.</p><p>“You like my feet,” Keith corrects him, crossing his arms over his chest. And if that’s to cover up the way his nipples have gone all hard under the t-shirt he borrowed from Shiro, who’s to know?</p><p>“I like everything about you,” Shiro admits, his touch crawling further up.</p><p>It’s petting Keith’s leg hair backwards. “Don’t do that,” he prickles.</p><p>“What, baby?”</p><p>“That. It feels weird.”</p><p>“Oh.” Then, a chuckle. “You really are like a cat sometimes, aren’t you. C’mere. Sit in my lap.”</p><p>“As long as you stop groping my feet.” Keith rolls his eyes, feigns offense, but he’s glad for the invitation. Shiro’s thighs are a great place to sit, even better to straddle.</p><p>At the spread of Keith’s legs as he vaults over Shiro’s lap, the way it makes his shorts bunch up at his hips and reveals even more of his legs, Shiro gulps. “I didn’t mean like that. I meant—you know. Curl up so I can pet you.”</p><p>“You can still pet me like this,” Keith says, being purposefully difficult as he settles down. His hips are still far enough away that there’s no indiscretion, but Keith closes the space between them anyway, leaning in to lay his head on Shiro’s collarbone. His cheek falls along a swell of chest muscles, but with his face tucked in like this, Shiro won’t be able to see his blush.</p><p>“I—I,” Shiro stutters. His hands, one human and one Altean, close over his knees. “I guess so.” And his fingers trace little patterns, swirls and doodles and shapes, as they run down Keith’s calves.</p><p>Keith hums again, the sound more like a purr than before. Shiro, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the noise. “That’s better.”</p><p>“Good.” Of course, once his hands are done smoothing down Keith’s lergs, there they are at his bare ankles again, stroking sensitive skin over the spurs of bone. “T was good to you,” he says, so quiet it’s like he hopes Keith doesn’t hear it.</p><p>Keith supposes, objectively, that Shiro’s right, but it still feels like a cheap cop-out some days. He started late, after the war, but it worked fast and it worked hard. The texture of his skin and hair changed first, and Shiro had not only noticed, but praised him for it. Never really stopped, Keith realizes as Shiro rubs his face against Keith’s stubble, tucking kisses along the sharp line of his neck. But there’s just something about how coarse it all is that bothers him, still. The way it feels when he shaves his face, the blade of his razor making that rasping noise no matter how gentle he tries to be. The ungainly curls down the center of his chest, the dark trail of hair under his navel gone even more noticeable as it points down into wiry pubes that Keith swears he now has to tame with hedge trimmers. The concentrated pelt in a gradient down his arms and legs, and the actual tufts in his pits now—which, no thank you, will never be sexy no matter how erotically Shiro groans when he sniffs and licks at them.</p><p>Yeah, it’s been good to him. Reshaped his muscles, redistributed his body fat, dropped his voice, but mostly just made him hairy beyond measure. And not the kind of hairy he was expecting, either. “Wish it hadn’t grown in like this.”</p><p>And maybe that was the wrong thing to say, with Shiro’s hands creeping up the inside of his shorts, because he slows. Stops. Pulls back a little. “What do you mean?”</p><p>And now Shiro’s looking at him, all disappointed, with those gray eyes gone all soft and pleading, wanting to know how he hurt Keith this time. “It’s not anything you did,” he says, and he can actually see the tension leave Shiro’s body, his shoulders coming down just that slightest bit from around his ears. “I just...” Because as it turns out, hormonally transitioning doesn’t instantly alleviate every inch of body dysmorphia, it just makes it easier to wrangle—and sometimes it’s still painful, even after all these years. “I wanted fur,” is all he says.</p><p>“You <em>got</em> fur,” Shiro points out, pushing back up his shorts and pulling against the grain on his leg hair all the while.</p><p>“No, like—” and the fabric hikes up just right, the crotch seam starts pushing into the space between Keith’s legs, and it’s not fair that Shiro insists on rendering him speechless when this might actually be important. “Like a real Galra,” he pushes through the rest of that sentence, even though the purr in his chest has ratcheted up to practically vibrate through his bones.</p><p>Shiro looks at him, and Keith feels scrutinized. Shiro’s mouth is screwed up into the tiniest frown, a thought line wrinkling between his eyebrows. “You <em>are</em> a real Galra, though,” he insists.</p><p>“I don’t look like it,” Keith mumbles.</p><p>It’s becoming increasingly difficult to stay frustrated with Shiro, though, when he’s doing horrible, wonderful things with his clothes. The shorts are clinging to him with his own slick, now, and when Shiro twists his thumbs in the fabric, it drags the seam over his hard clit. “You look like one to me.”</p><p>“Please don’t say I look just like my mom when you’re doing that to me,” Keith begs him. The shorts are practically flossing his cunt by now, and he can feel wetness seeping through the fabric.</p><p>“Okay,” Shiro says, voice heavy with seriousness. “I’ll wait until later. Right now, though...” twisting playful, Keith’s shorts bunched so hard in his hands that he’s got everything from knees to waistband in his grip. He uses his strong arms (one metal, one flesh) to pull Keith closer, until the spread of his thighs lays hot across the narrow of Shiro’s hips. “Are you in love with these?”</p><p>“They’re basketball shorts,” Keith says, “they’re just clothes, I don’t care.”</p><p>“Good.” And with the tension in his forearms, Shiro pulls the legs of his shorts apart, until the seam actually rips in half and the waistband snaps at the stretch.</p><p>Keith is now naked below the waist, pussy so hot that the air of the room stings across his sensitive parts. “What the <em>fuck</em>,” he breathes, incredulous.</p><p>“Sorry,” Shiro says, in that tone that means it’s absolutely not an apology. “Got impatient.” And with his thenar space bracketing the apex of Keith’s thighs, he dips his thumbs between his legs to spread him open.</p><p>The wet little <em>smek</em> as his pussy lips unstick shivers up Keith’s spine. “Clothes off,” he growls, his timbre inhuman as his claws catch in Shiro’s shirt.</p><p>“Rip ‘em,” Shiro tells him.</p><p>Keith goes <em>feral</em>. As soon as the tips of Shiro’s thumbs slick back to pry apart his opening, he’s sliced through the cotton hiding the cut of Shiro’s musculature from view. His fangs prickle at his own lips before he latches on at Shiro’s throat, sucking a bruise into his pale skin. Hungry hands travel down, honking his pecs, tracing every dip of his abs, before he pulls at the button and fly of Shiro’s jeans. “These, too?”</p><p>“Hold on—” and Shiro takes back his left hand to start working his pants off, but his right starts getting more ambitious, the smooth porcelain-metal of his thumbprint sinking easily into Keith’s wet hole. “Up,” he orders, persuading Keith to his knees with that hand, and then he’s shucking pants and briefs all at once to kick them off and across the living room.</p><p>Keith is about to settle back down in Shiro’s lap before a possessive hand sneaks under his shirt to cradle his waist. His thumb has worked in to the base of his hand, now, the tip of it just barely nudging at just the right angle to make Keith go stupid, but it’s not until Shiro mouths at Keith’s nipple through a layer of fabric that he moans. “C’mon,” he grunts, tugging at the bottom hem.</p><p>Shiro gets the idea, bunching the loose fabric until he gets a good enough grip to slide it up over Keith’s head. His teeth get naughty this time around, biting at the cherry-red peak of Keith’s tiny breast before sucking at it again. It’s all Keith can do to throw his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and keep him close, especially since that other hand is back at his cunt, thumb twiddling the chub of his hard-on before tracing back to where he’s already being penetrated. “Another?” he asks after a sweet kiss to the abused nipple.</p><p>“Yeah,” Keith nods furiously, “yeah, oh, Shiro—” and his throat closes around a whine as Shiro’s other thumb tucks inside. Not like Keith’s ever been fingered by anyone else, but the way Shiro does it is so intense. The pads of those thumbs pull out, massage gentle at the rim of him to even out the burn of holding him open; they fuck into him deep but nowhere near deep enough to satisfy, squelching as they nudge into his walls and pry them apart. “Fuck me,” he realizes he’s saying with every unsteady breath, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” even as he’s drenching Shiro’s hands to the wrist with his wetness.</p><p>Shiro’s murmuring something into his chest hair. “We can’t,” he’s saying, once it gets through to Keith’s sex-fogged brain. “No condoms out here, baby.” And yet he’s still working his two blunt, thick thumbs in and out of Keith’s hole, teasing him unbearably.</p><p>“I don’t care,” Keith says. Then, again, pulling Shiro out from between his breasts by a harsh hand in his forelock, stroking down the back of his neck with shaking fingers, “I don’t care. Fuck me, starlight.”</p><p>Shiro shivers. “You can’t just call me that and get whatever you want.”</p><p>“Can’t I?” Keith swivels his hips against Shiro’s hands holding him up, riding the fingers inside him.</p><p>“You’re going to kill me for good one of these days,” Shiro groans. He starts pulling out his thumbs, despite Keith’s valiant effort to clench around him and keep him inside.</p><p>Of course, then his hands come around the backs of Keith’s thighs, just below his ass, and he stands them both up like it’s nothing. “Oh, shit,” Keith whispers. He’d forgotten about this little party trick. His pussy throbs between his legs at the show of strength, and he thinks he might cum just from the sudden lightheadedness at being lifted.</p><p>It’s fourteen heavy steps to the threshold of their bedroom, another six to their bed; the very tip of Shiro’s cock kisses between Keith’s legs once or twice, a heavy sway that mostly brushes precum over Keith’s ass. Shiro lets him down gently, climbing over him on the mattress and leaning down so he can claim his mouth, and oh, he tastes so good, arousal apparent on the point of his tongue as it outlines Keith’s fangs. “Stay,” he breathes down at Keith, eyes blown black.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Keith says weakly. He knows, intellectually, that Shiro’s only fiddling around in his bedside drawer for a condom, but things feel just a little weirder without the weight of a body over him. Until he’s back, knee denting the edge of the bed as he scrambles back into place, with a whole strip of condoms flung towards the pillows. “Shiro—”</p><p>“I got you, baby.” What little space there is left between their bodies disappears when Shiro takes Keith’s ankles in hand and yanks them behind his back. Keith’s already moaning by the time Shiro’s hands are between his legs again, this time two index fingers sliding into him side-by-side.</p><p>And then he’s practically screaming as they sink in, continuing where the thumbs left off, persuading his pussy to bloom open and wet like a hothouse flower. Oh, they’re deep, it’s so good, knuckles not quite as thick but still spreading him from the inside. Keith can never quite tell him with words how incredible it feels being opened up like this, gentle but insistent, reminding his body that this isn’t anywhere near the main course, just an appetizer. “More,” is the closest Keith can get, sighing it, choking it out, over and over and over.</p><p>“I will,” Shiro says, “I promise,” and yet he still takes away his flesh hand. Why, Keith almost asks him, before he traces the movement in his arm and hears a plastic packet crackle in the background. The metal finger in him is soaking up his body heat; it feels so hot against his core, burning him, branding him. Shiro’s middle finger curls in alongside the index, gliding in smooth with how needy Keith is for it, a cool balm against overheated flesh. “God you feel so good,” Shiro mutters, twisting his wrist.</p><p>That gets both fingertips up against Keith’s G-spot, and the sound he makes in relief might fairly be called a howl. His cunt squeezes against Shiro’s thick fingers, but Shiro’s strong enough and he’s slick enough that they can still penetrate through that tightness. If he squints, he can see Shiro’s other shoulder working; he follows the motion, down his arm, to where he’s rolling the condom on. And if he gives his cock a few extra pulls while he’s there, well, Keith won’t fault him for it.</p><p>“All right, baby,” Shiro says easily, “let’s see if you’re ready for me.” And oh, oh, oh fuck, oh christ, Shiro twists his wrist back so he can pry Keith’s thighs open and look right at where his wet hole is slurping at his prosthetic fingers. That flesh hand returns, palm kneading into Keith’s leg, and a third finger slips in. Keith almost doesn’t have the sense to breathe before a fourth one, oh god, fuck, fourth, breaches him. All bunched so nice and thick in him, a good few inches deep but nowhere near what he’s looking for, and Keith whines, feral, when they pull out, kicking at the sheets weakly with his heels until they bunch under his feet.</p><p>Four fingertips hover at his entrance. Slowly, they pull at him, gaping his wet little hole until Keith keens with need. A threatening trill builds in his throat, “please,” he’s so empty, “Shiro,” he needs it so bad, “starlight,” he’ll shatter into a thousand pieces unless—</p><p>Shiro’s strangled sigh when he finally penetrates him is heavenly. It’s a smooth, slow slide, tip to base, frictionless but heavy and thick and pulsing hot. “Keith,” he breathes. “So tight.”</p><p>“No,” and Keith tries to laugh but it makes him squeeze Shiro’s cock even tighter. “You’re just huge.” And it’s not like he can get away, either, with the iron grip of Shiro’s hands around his thighs, but he squirms as best as he can, rocking his hips to change angle and pressure.</p><p>Shiro doesn’t let him get away with much. Those big, big hands close around his waist, drag him in and up onto his thighs until there’s no breathing room between them. The flat of Keith’s chest is pushed against the muscular swell of Shiro’s and they’re locked together from nipples to genitals. And then mouth to mouth, too, Shiro kissing him like Keith stole his air and he’s trying to claim it back.</p><p>It’s too much already, tipping into even more, because Shiro is doing this filthy, nasty thing with his hips that makes Keith’s pussy throb. A leisurely slip in and out, a deep grind when he hits home. Keith feels taken apart, even before Shiro grabs his ass and starts moving him the way he wants. Those perfect fucking thighs flex and bunch under him with every thrust. Keith thinks he might be drooling his brain out through his cunt already.</p><p>“God, you’re so—” and Shiro bucks up, makes Keith choke on whatever little noise was about to crawl out of his throat. Up, up, and up again, each time punching so deep that Keith’s wondering if it’s possible to bruise on the inside. He wants it to hurt. He wants to feel this tomorrow.</p><p>Dark heat pools at the base of his spine, his body going liquid-slack the longer he’s fucked. Nothing matters except for Shiro’s hot breath at his ear, the glorious sounds he makes when Keith squeezes his pussy tight around his dick. The way his hands pet down Keith’s legs, over and over again, letting him have more leeway to move like he needs to.</p><p>It isn’t long before Keith’s calves are burning, feet flexed in the sheets for leverage. Shiro’s kneeling under him like he’s praying, and maybe Keith’s seeing God behind his eyelids a little bit, because every time the fat ridge of Shiro’s cockhead ruts past his G-spot he starts seeing specks in his vision. He’s gasping, full of nonsense words, all <em>fuck</em> and <em>please</em> and <em>more</em>, each push into his body pushing him closer to the invisible cliff’s edge with a swoop in his stomach.</p><p>It’s so much. It always is—but this time, it might be too much. Because it—oh, he’s close, but this feels—it’s dangerous, got a bite to it, building up like a tsunami about to crash into shore, and he doesn’t know why but he feels the urge to warn Shiro, “fuck, I can’t, I can’t—”</p><p>“Can’t what?” gets panted into his ear, humid and hot as Shiro’s dick keeps hollowing him out just to fill him up again. “Can’t hold it?”</p><p>“I’m gonna—”</p><p>“Gonna cum?” There’s a taunting smile in Shiro’s voice, a certain smugness in his tone.</p><p>Keith’s ears are ringing. He can taste it on the tip of his tongue. His fingertips are tingling with it. The whole room reeks of salt and sex. He’s hit terminal velocity. Impact is going to be brutal, and there’s no way he can brace for it.</p><p>His orgasm hits him like a meteor. If Shiro wasn’t so deep in him, the way he’s clenching would have forced him out. Having all of him inside like this is overwhelming, and Keith pants through it, claws ripping at the skin of Shiro’s shoulders, too wound up even to scream. Everything between his legs sizzles alive, clit pulsing, cunt swallowing, and it’s not just that he’s coming, it’s—it’s—</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Shiro says reverently, speaking for both of them, because some part of Keith is dribbling out little spurts of messy wet as his climax still has a death grip on him. He can’t stop it; Shiro’s cock is just too big, filling up too much space between his legs for him to clamp down any harder. “Baby, did you just—”</p><p>And he doesn’t give any time for Keith to answer, just whirls him around and pins him down into the puddle on the bed as he’s still squirting. When Shiro pulls out, there’s a slick, creamy gush from Keith’s pussy, and it’s like he can breathe again, wrung out and exhilarated. Shiro’s still hard, but he rolls the condom off before catching the slit of his dick right against Keith’s jutting clit. It sends a shiver through both of them.</p><p>Shiro kneels over Keith to finish, fisting his cock hard and fast until he spills with an untidy groan onto Keith’s stomach. His cum slips into the dip of his belly button, paints across the hair of his navel trail. “Oh my god,” he keeps saying. “Oh my god, Keith.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“That was so hot,” he says, falling into Keith’s side and pulling his face closer so he can kiss him. “The hottest thing I’ve ever seen, is that a Galra thing?”</p><p>Keith melts into his touch. “I don’t know.” He’s still trying to catch his breath, chest heaving. The tender way Shiro touches the scar on his right cheek has an aftershock coursing through his frazzled nerves. “The claws are.” With gentle fingertips, nails blunt, he smooths over the skin of Shiro’s upper back. It’s wet, with raised welts Keith can feel, but his fingers don’t come away red, and that’s the important part. “Sorry.” For the scratches, for the sex-sweat.</p><p>“Hey,” Shiro says, a little hoarse. “No.” He kisses the tip of Keith’s nose. “What’s the rule?”</p><p>“Never apologize for being me in front of you.”</p><p>“Never apologize for yourself at all,” and Shiro beams with pride. It washes over Keith like a sunrise. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”</p><p>“All... in-between?” Too alien to be human but both at once, still mid-transition and deciding how he feels before pressing forward.</p><p>“All both and neither and whoever you want to be.” Shiro sweeps back Keith’s sweat-soaked bangs and kisses him on the forehead. When he pulls back, his eyes are starry and fond. “You’re so much like your mother.”</p><p>“And you’re a shithead,” Keith laughs, pulling down a pillow from the head of the bed to bean a giggling Shiro with it.</p>
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